


A gift of separation

by scotchandwhitelies



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Made Up Customs, One Shot, Romantic Gestures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23154520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scotchandwhitelies/pseuds/scotchandwhitelies
Summary: It's an ancient wakandan custom.Something the King would offer a Dora when it's time to part ways and she gets to go back to civilian life.
Relationships: Okoye & T'Challa (Marvel), Okoye/T'Challa (Marvel)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 37





	A gift of separation

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for this beautiful pair and I can't believe there's so few fics for them. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy the daydream.

She's not the most demonstrative woman when it comes to affection. Okoye also knows onlookers would describe her as stoic. Most certainly intimidating. Calculating at all times. 

And she doesn't mind the judgement because with fear comes respect. That steady, mature behaviour of hers, that thoroughness and invisible fortress around her is an indeniable asset to complete her duties.

The truth is passion is deeply rooted in Okoye. Though she doesn't let emotions rule her head, she's driven by passion. The unshakable love for her country and the wakandan way of life. The need to challenge her mind and prove herself worthy. The desire to protect what she loves most by serving the throne. 

And the love of him, as inappropriate as it may seem. 

The love of her King. 

* * *

Isipho sokwahlula. 

A gift of separation. 

It's an ancient wakandan custom. Something the King would offer a Dora when it's time to part ways and she gets to go back to civilian life. The gift is never the same. It has to be tailored to the woman's needs as she retires. There's a lot of stories going around, stories Okoye has heard since her early childhood. Even the decor of the Palace would retell scenes of sovereigns offering cattle, ornate combs,land or dowries to beautiful ladies the color of baked honey.

For many young doras, the gift of separation means being given the freedom to start over again. Being a dora milaje is very physical work, seven days a week interspersed by a one month leave each year. It's certainly not something any woman can do and no one can picture themselves doing it until old age. And many of them, many of her sisters in arms never get any retirement anyway. They get put to rest by protecting the King against certain death. 

Okoye always makes a point to remind young recruits of that. It's not just about the thrill of danger or the high rank or whatever brings them to her training.

There are consequences and some of them are unshakable. There's only so much you can outrun Death. 

* * *

She's heard the rumors all week, as soon as the King, Nakia and herself come back from a mission in Mauritania. Rumors of a Dora that will soon be put to retirement. 

They've taken a human trafficking organization down to its roots, and another team of war dogs is tasked with the heavy brunt of the clean up. Still, there's been a mishap. A slight miscalculation, her underestimating what she thought was a child instead of a time bomb. T'Challa has been quite livid since then.

The mistake also sends her to Shuri's lab for three agonizing days but now, she's barely got an itch at her middle. 

At first, Okoye doesn't pay much mind to the staff talk in the corridors. She's only thirty five herself and she still has so much strength, knowledge and protection to offer. 

But there's still a prickling sense of shame deep down. Fear of failure. What ifs and somber thoughts of T'Challa not trusting her judgement anymore. What if she's the one whom he wants to part with ? What will she do then ?

For a while, days stretch after days, and everything remains the same. She still gets to stand tall by his side, escort his daily strolls at the markets. 

It's peaceful as always, but so consuming when night comes and Okoye recalls every flutter of his lashes, every shy smile because he's self conscious about his teeth somehow. 

One time, the King stops in front of a small shop that offers a wide range of handmade wood carving. But the air is charged with the smell of flowers, fruits and honey, and then comes the sound of high laughter and tint of ankle bracelets. Okoye hums some proteas in there. It's one of her most precious secrets. She literally has a secret garden in a secluded spot of the Royal greenhouse.

It's easy to get owerwhelmed in the vastness of narrow streets and endless stalls but she practically knows the place by heart. Okoye has her eyes on every entrance and exit possible. Every behaviour surrounding her King that could be somewhat suspicious. People that linger too close. Some she has to put distance with. 

Like now, the young owner of the wood carving shop seems overly familiar. She shoots him a glare as warning, while T'Challa picks up a beautiful comb the color of obsidian. The intricate designs make it seem very feminine.

She's not sure where his relationship stands with Nakia right now, after one too many breaks. It might not be the best idea to sweet talk her with a gift. 

The King rubs his chin then, looking deep in thoughts. Okoye ignores the twinge of jealousy when he asks for her input. 

"I do not use combs, your Majesty", she smiles, flicking the accessory a sharp glance before her gaze turns to onlookers again. That makes the owner cackle, until twin pointed stares from Okoye and T'Challa make him sober faster than a heartbeat. Thankfully, his phone buzzes. It's a tiny device hidden in his fashionable bow tie made of Samakaka cloth. He bows his neck before swiftly taking the call. 

T'Challa turns to her, and his gaze feels as caressing and heated as the sun. His grin is crooked and his eyes shine with something like mirth. Okoye arches a brow, tightening her hold on her spear. 

"Any additional comment, your Majesty ?"

"None other than I'm relieved this man didn't end up like meat skewer on your spear, General", he teases.

"Rest assured, I'm not hungry for blood so early in the morning", she says. 

She nods at the two other Doras on the other side of the lane then. It's a very rare occurence to have any wakandan civilian try to attack the King so it's just business as usual. Almost boring, though she knows better than to underestimate anyone. 

T'Challa looks her up and down, holds up the comb right beside her ear, as if to compare her skintone with it. 

Her heartbeat speeds up in spite of herself but she remains calm on the outside. Calm and unbothered.

"It could suit you...", he muses. 

"With my shaved, bald head ?"

He shakes his head, places the item back in its case. 

"You could grow it", he huffs, avoiding her gaze. 

"I'm a Dora", she says. 

"I know", he replies. 

Okoye tells herself she's wrong about whatever twinge of regret she senses in his voice. 

* * *

The hammer falls heavy two weeks later, right before the birthday party of a flagship in Wakandan entertainment. 

Okoye has always told the King he should restrain himself from this kind of acquaintances but Agbepa Nxasama is a childhood friend. The eccentric man who always wears red hats on any occasion has even rented an entire hotel for the festivities. And besides, the King wants to be as modern a monarch as possible.

She expects her meeting with T'Challa to be all about communication devices and tactics then. 

She's wrong.

* * *

She doesn't know what's inside but the presence of the black box wrapped with a gold bow offends her all the same. It also bears the initials of a renowned wakandan designer, and three signature claws that leave the underside of the lid looking shredded.

The princess of Wakanda usually tends to the fashion side of their missions. It's her second love after science. The King never did anything like this before. 

It's certainly not her birthday. 

She gulps down with difficulty, keeps her hands clasped in her back, thrusting out her chest. He's the one to draw close gingerly, as she stands with her feet heavily planted in the ground.

"General", he greets after clearing his throat. 

Okoye bows her neck once. This can't be. She can't have failed. Not so soon. She smiles reflexively, and stiffens when T'Challa leans even closer.

So close she can smell him, and inhale in the sweet and tasty aroma of bissap he probably drank earlier. 

"I suppose you're not surprised...", he drawls, gesturing at the gift.

Okoye nods solemnly. Their time was always meant to be limited. It's time to move on. Time to find what else life has to offer. But why does she feel split in the middle ?

"I've had a hunch, I guess. But I thought you'd give me a few more years", she confesses. 

He inclines his head then. The power of his gaze makes her want to turn her face away. 

"The risks cannot be taken", he says, "Which is why it's better to part from your duties now."

Her heart sinks heavy in her shoes. She draws in a long breath. 

"Can I...Can I perhaps know where my weakest points lie ?"

"What do you mean ?"

"I still want to know what I did wrong before you send me away", she almost grits. 

T'Challa takes pause.

"Who said anything about sending you away ?"

Okoye scoffs. "It's the traditional way to go, no ? Sending the Doras back home."

The King of Wakanda blinks once then repeatedly. Her gaze then wanders to clay masks and ancient weapons scattering the ochre wall behind his study.

"General, I think your assumptions about this meeting are quite wrong."

"Then what is it, if not a gift of separation ?"

Her chin points at the box. T'Challa stares for a moment before walking away to retrieve the gift. He brings it to her. 

"Open it", he says softly. 

"Kumkani-"

"Okoye...", he drawls, and the sound of her name rolling on his tongue makes her heart soar. With febrile hands, she undoes the bow and carefully unpacks her gift of separation.

She peeks at a heap of red fabric and sparkling beaded sequins. The silk chiffon looks neatly pleated, the kind to fall from a girl's shoulders like a waterfall.

But Okoye is not a girl anymore. 

She can sense him studying her like a hawk. 

He clears his throat.

"I couldn't think of anything else but you in it the first time I saw that dress", he smiles, "You look like a dream when you're in red..."

"Thank you", she breathes, stifling the burst of warmth that spreads through her chest and neck. 

He bought her a dress. He thought of her. He wants to see her in it. 

It's too much. 

His brows furrow at her lukewarm response and he turns around to put the box back on the table. 

She barely breathes when his big hands settle on her shoulders. 

"Okoye...", he rasps again, and he has no right because he makes her name sound like a single word song, and her knees get weak. And now, he dares to touch her like this, his hand gently massaging her neck to ease her worries. 

It's unfair. It's cruel. Hurts more than any other deep wound she received to keep him from harm's way.

She shakes her head, holds her hands up, and steps away. 

"There's no need for explanations. I take back everything. This is a beautiful gift."

T'Challa looks in pain then. She keeps babbling about reports and the appropriate time needed to appoint a new Head of the Dora Milaje. 

"Okoye...You don't understand", he hisses, cutting her delivery short, "I didn't offer you a dress because I wanted to offend you or part from you forever. I only want to see you soft. For me", he rasps. 

And when she stays silent, he adds:

"It burdens me as well to ask this of you. I know how capable you are and how true to your duty you've always been. But I'm asking you to consider my offer as I'm done denying myself. Okoye... please."

Her voice is no more than a fading whisper when she dares to speak again.

"Please what ?"

T'Challa's face is stricken with emotion. She's never seen him like this. Never seen him look so vulnerable, not even back to King T'Chaka's funeral. 

It's like he's just laid his guts bare in front of her. 

"Choose me. Stay by my side as a woman, not a warrior. Let me worship you..."

Her heart speeds up in her chest, banging with every word he says. Surely, the King is not in his right mind.

Her hand comes up to her throat. She's so stunned she has to take rest against a wooden pillar. 

"You have to be joking", she splutters. 

T'Challa doesn't let her any peace. He swiftly strides towards her, until there's only a small crevice left between them. 

"I'm not a cruel man. You can trust my words. I've been thinking about this for a long time."

Her eyes finally lock with his. 

"There's no woman more fitted to be my Queen than you are."

"So it's duty that brings you here ?", Okoye exhales, and it's ironic how the idea pinches at her heart. She doesn't want him to choose her because of logic. She wants him to be driven by the same passion that makes her blood boil when he hovers by. 

T'Challa shakes his head. 

"I know what you're thinking but you're so much more than a Dora", he whispers. 

"It's who I was always meant to be. I don't know how to be anyone else", she counters, rubbing a gold plate from her uniform. 

"Life has so much more to offer, sithandwa sam. I want to grow old and happy with you. And meet you again in the afterlife, if you allow me the priviledge..."

Heat flocks to her cheeks, spans to her core, and she's close to whimpering when the King settles a broad hand on her hip, cradling her face with another. 

"Please, Okoye. Be mine."

She chokes up then makes the slightest nod. 

T'Challa blows out a breath in relief. 

His warm breath hovers over her supple lips. 

"You have to say it out loud, my love. I need to hear how much you want to be mine..."

Okoye chuckles from the bottom of her heart. Her arms naturally wind around his neck. It's unsettling even to her and she shudders at how daring she is. She's not supposed to touch him like this. Never been allowed this kind of intimacy beyond late night musings. Okoye figures the journey will take long before she's completely comfortable about them being seen like this. 

"My King", she breathes. 

T'Challa hums in return, bending his tall frame to nuzzle his nose against her neck with purpose. A shiver racks her body instantly. 

"I wanna be yours", she says as steady as she can, "I wanna be your Queen, T'Challa."

He gives a positively besotted grin. She gets a fleeting gaze of it before her feet get lifted from the ground and he wipes her next worries with a searing kiss. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving this piece a go ♥️  
> Comments are always appreciated.  
> Come talk on Tumblr. I'm @scotchandwhitelies there too.


End file.
